


Thirst

by NyxNite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNite/pseuds/NyxNite
Summary: “Lovely girl, a man has a thirst.”When he finds her, he wants to know why she ran. And that is far more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

“Lovely girl, a man has a thirst.”

She pushed away from him then. The stranger, who had followed her as she fled the rather lively wedding ceremony before people became too drunk, had cornered her. It was the way of these people and she could have fought him off for yet another bead for her flowing hair. And yet, the familiar scent of cloves and ginger had lulled away her senses. Though she had a hard time placing it.

His fingers had been hot and needy as they caressed her skin, urgent as if he would never be allowed this chance again. She had been contemplating letting herself go for just one night and truly becoming the wild Kiri of the Dothraki.

But now, she grasped at her finger knife and held it to his neck. She pulled herself completely out of his grasp, readjusting the leather top she wore that he had begun to remove.

“How did you find me? What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice still too husky. Her body still humming from his earlier attention.

“Drinking a lovely thing, a girl was told. A man has a thirst.” His gaze is just as calculated as his words, and both are dripping with need. “A girl wants another?”  He whispers, pushing himself back against her allowing her weapon to draw blood. Her grip loosens, her eyes widen, her lips tremble.

His fingers are back on her skin, his lips following soon after. The horse lord’s face is pulled away, while the knife is still at his neck scarring his skin, she moans. He traps her breath between them, before tossing both her guise and top to the wayside. She is not tanned, but pale as moonlight. Her eyes are not a deep brown but a shiny silver. But that dark hair was hers, still long and adorned with her beads of conquest and bells of victory.

“No... No...” She moans. “You shouldn’t be here...” Though she has laced her fingers into the silver portion of his hair.

His lips are upon her tits. He has slipped her knife back into its holster. He’s been hard since he saw her dancing wildly around the bonfire. His wild evil lovely girl. He’d had half a mind to have her on the ground next to the flames, as was the way of the horse lords. But she was his lovely girl, his alone. Any approach by another while he had his fill would have caused blood to run rivers through the grass sea.

She tries to remember herself, bare breasted and flushed as she is. But then her legs are around his waist and his cock is hard against her inner thighs. He has a hand trapped between them and its fingers are rather skilled. She tries again to pull away, she will drown in him otherwise. She knows she will, this isn’t the first time.

Then he looks at her with that face, that she yearns for but fears all the same. His lips are to her ear and she shivers at his words. “Lovely girl, let a man drink.” It is a plea and yet also a promise. And so she lets him.

He rips off her skirt, leaving only her boots and a string of decorative beads and bells around her waist to cover her. For but a moment, they breathe. Then he is inside her, and she feels the fullness of it. The feeling of utter completion. She had missed such a thing more than life and must stop herself from weeping.

He fucks her hard, a punishment and a reward. The chime and clink clack of the embellishments in her hair and around her waist tease them both. Instruments to the chorus of their guttural moans and hasty words. He comes upon her thigh.

When he is spent he still teases her, still wanting more as he dines between her legs. Her dark curls only fueling his want. The musk of their mixed sex driving him mad. She comes in his mouth and down his chin.

He gathers her up and takes her to her tent. Pushes her into the woolen linens on the floor she had the audacity to call a bed and fucks her again. He spills his seed inside of her.

A dark thought rises within him. A vision of his seed taking root rushes through his thoughts. Maybe then she wouldn’t run so quickly. Round and filled with him, even more lovely, with even more tit. He should scatter her moon tea to the wind. It would be no more than she deserved and practically everything he desired.

He has her trapped within his arms when they are truly exhausted. He had his fill but only for now. He cannot have her escaping again. He tangles his fingers in her hair hoping it will wake him if she tries to leave.

It doesn’t, not quite anyway. He wakes with her perched atop his abs. Cunt on his belly button, legs straddling him, tits deliciously free, that knife of hers back at his throat. She is beautiful and dangerous and confused. He can tell the last by the slight furrow of her brow and the small twist in her lip. Perhaps she thought she was dreaming him there until she awoke. But it matters not. He wants her again. His cock twitches, he wonders how far this will go before he finds himself between her folds.

“How did you find me?” She asks. He stretches underneath her and feels the light quiver of her hungry cunt from the friction. Her breath comes out sharp, her cheeks redden. She still wants him. His lovely girl would want him when no one else would.

“A man looked.” He replies cockily, casually moving his hand to her hip caressing the bare skin. He thinks of himself and his need, his hunger, ‘ _It is not enough_.’

She ignores his ministrations as best she can, but he can feel her dripping and slick. She presses the knife into his skin, his cock jumps at the thrill. “Do not waste your lies on me.”

He sits up slowly, guiding her into his lap, onto his throbbing cock, knife still at his throat. She moves with him effortlessly like a dance. Before she can think to protest, he slips into her again, she trembles. “A man knows his lovely wild girl...”

“Liar...” She whispers as she grinds her hips against him. Her eyes are lidded with lust, her breathing deep and heavy.

‘ _Not enough..._ ’ He thinks before grabbing the wrist that holds the knife. Her surprise is as evident as his darkened smirk. He uses that wrist to pull her forward, he is almost out of her before he thrust his hips forward. His cock is sheathed again and the sound she makes is his damnation.

Again, and again he thrusts. He sings softly in her ear, his fingers coming to rest of her hips as they fall into a familiar rhythm. “Lovely... Bewitching... Evil girl... Delicious runaway... Only mine... Forever mine...”

She’s moaning and fighting herself. Calling him a liar in every tongue she knows. But he is inside her and she could kill him for it. Kill him for making her feel when he is no one and she has a name. He comes inside her as she bites his collar bone.

They have crashed and he has her trapped in tangled legs and arms. His fingers lazily stroking between her legs.  He should give her no rest especially since she pulled a knife on him twice. The thought that rested legs helped with running, a thing he would not let her do again, at least not without him, also keeps him at his task. “A girl should not have left so abruptly.”

“Other options did not readily appear and I can only guess what is done to ‘ _abominations in the eyes of the many-faced god_.’” She hums, twitching against his fingers.

“An odd phrasing. Nothing would have befallen a lovely girl had she stayed...” He whispers, quelling her incessant ‘ _no’_ with a strategically placed finger and jut of his hips. “ _A man’s to protect. That is what a girl is._ ”

“No One does not need to protect a girl. No One must serve.” She practically sighs, another peak off in the distance.

“ _A man_ does as he will.” He whispers, nibbling at her ear. He is becoming hard again.

Her breath catches, her muscles clinch, and the words spill out. “Then you are not _a man_.”

“Very good lovely girl...” He kisses her neck in praise, and lifts her leg for his own purpose. “Tell a man who he is, who you won’t let him forget.” It comes out in almost a growl. The head of his cock is near her entrance, teasing. “Tell a man who you want inside you.”

“I...” She starts but he pinches her nipple, then bites her shoulder. She is pulled closer to him, his fingers maddening but she wants more. She always wants more. “Jaqen.”

His eyes darken as he pushes himself inside of her. One hand pulls her face towards his as he captures her lips. And then he has flipped her and her legs are over his shoulders. His lips are on her lovely tits and he could drown in her and be content.

“Say it again.”

“Jaqen...” She moans over and over until he is sated. Over and over like waves beating a tired shore, washing over it, and making it new.

Again they are spent, this time after she rides him rather hard leaving bruises on her thighs and scratches on his chest. She lies upon his chest, long hair fanned out and still adorned with bells and beads. It is comfortable.

“A girl named Arya Stark has many talents...” He whispers into her hair. He wished it said as a comfort yet she stiffens.

She makes a move to sit up. He stops her with a questioning look. “If you found me, they will too. I have to go.”

He gives her an odd stare. “Why?”

She returns a rather strange glance, this time sitting up and pulling him with her. “Have you not been back?”

“The waif contacted a man while he traveled a year ago to say there was a rather violent exchange and that a girl had disappeared.” He shrugs, running his hand through mismatched red and silver locks. “A man has been searching since. Not many details beyond that.”

She begins to play with her fingers. They are fluttering because she is nervous. He watches them for a while as if they would speak. The movement stops abruptly. She bites her lip.

“Valar morghulis... But I did not want it to be the waif’s time. Sorrowful men had found their way into Braavos with rather ill intent for the House. It was a war of shadows...” Her fingers began fluttering again.

“Why was a man not told to return?” He asked masking the rage that simmered under the surface.

She pauses as if shuffling the words around carefully. He does not like this, for it is not the way of his Arya Stark. “Kindly man knows many secrets... You were sent as far away as you were because you favored a face... And he knew why.”

His head tilts carefully to the side. “A girl knows this how?”

“He said as much when the waif took me to the rookery to send for you. All the others had returned but you. I wasn’t worried, but I knew you should have been back given the time frame.” She sighs and shifts.

Her hand passes over her face and she is wearing their brother’s preferred mask, called from the darkness, he is impressed.  The voice comes out and the mannerisms are no longer her own. “Foolish evil child, this one knows all and has heard the whispers! ‘ _Lovely girl..._ ’ he calls you with that face. In darkened places where most cannot see, lips and skin and fingertips. Now he must stay away in our hour of crisis lest he be ruined by you and you by him.”

The mummery is impeccable, a perfect rendition of an angry Kindly man, and had they not been in this discussion, he would have applauded her. But the reveal of such a betrayal from his brother left his mouth dry and his blood boiling.

Physical relationships happened in the House, it was a constant. Yes, there was more between him and Arya Stark. He had basically taken a sabbatical to search for her, something that could have been avoided if his brother had minded his own. And this searching for her, this had damned him. Not him fucking her in the courtyard under pale moonlight whispering he true name into her ear. No this destructive urge to find her, bring her back, specifically to him. That had ruined him. And that could have been avoided. His hand was forced when he bent to the will of this name.

Her hand passed her face again and she was once again long faced and silver eyed. Another sigh, another bitten lip. “And that was that. I was barred from the rookery, and since I was more concerned about not being stabbed while going about Braavos, I made myself think of other things. The other masters had returned either way, so the crisis should have been over... Or at least curbed..."

To this part of the tale he raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t?” An odd thought that was indeed. A slight to himself could be overlooked when all others were called back. But for such a thing to continue when the masters of the Faceless returned was odd.

She shakes her head. “They became more bold. But we continued to wipe them out, at least it seemed that way. There was a quiet week, the waif and I were cleaning the temple. A group appeared whispering ‘ _I’m so sorry._ ’ The doors had been bewitched and barred, so no one could assist. First attack inside of the House ever Handsome man said. But between the two of us we killed most of them; however, I was stabbed and the waif’s leg had been broken...” She looked distant then and they sat in relative silence.

He was just going to urge her forward when more words tumbled from her lips. “I followed you when you traveled through the Riverlands.” She said suddenly as if it was the final chapter to this story. “I was in Lys when you went through but I followed you.”

He frowned, perhaps he had fucked her too hard. But he had been wanting for so long, it couldn’t be helped. “Lovely girl that makes no...”

“Well, I didn’t alone. You heard them? The wolves... I didn’t mean to at first, but I know your smell and so does Nymeria somehow. And so she found you for me.”

Flutter, flutter, delicate fingers. Chew, chew, rosy lip.

“Your wolf?” She nods as something a bit prideful wells up into his chest. He pushes it down, he can be No One when it suits him just fine. “Why so nervous? Lovely girls from the north have been known to warg into animals. So they say.” He says caressing her cheek. She looks surprised and he shrugs, wishing for the end of this so he could decide a fitting punishment for his brother. A year wasted because a brother ran his lovely girl away after finding she belongs to a man.

“Because it’s not just my wolf... Cats too and owls and even hummingbirds...” She rambles her lips not saying what she is truly thinking. “Dogs are a bit harder, their thoughts are so erratic…”

“Arya...” He grounds her. She is going somewhere without him, a rather dark place. He needs her with him instead, if she goes he needs her as his guide so he can follow.

“Wolves and cats and dogs and birds, and a Sorrowful man who tried to cut the waif from her chin to her cunt...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things go askew.

No one was not sure if she was dying. But she knew the one that had managed to shove that pretty dagger into her abdomen was as good as dead. The small hair pin that had been gifted to her in the night, under a canopy of blinking stars, by a man with no name, had its uses. Its current use, stuck in the throat of a sputtering sorrowful man, had to be her favorite yet.

There were only four left, not including her sputtering friend who had graciously returned her thing, after she yanked it out of his throat, slipping it back into her hair. But their attention was elsewhere, the assumption that she had been mortally stabbed and would cause no further harm, would kill them, if no one was given the chance. Her body was buzzing, her vision attempting to tunnel when she heard the crack and shriek from her only ally in this den of death. Her sister fell, killing another as she did, but her lower leg was now jutting out at an odd angle.

And then suddenly, no one was Arya Stark, looking at the waif who was screaming for her to get out the upper windows. Arya Stark who growled and tried to run forward to help, blade still deep within her flesh. Arya Stark with hot tears, as someone she shouldn’t care about but did was being held up to be slaughtered. Arya Stark whose silver eyes suddenly turned white.

She had lain perfectly still when she awoke, head pounding, attempting to keep her breathing just as relaxed as it always was when she slept. A soft flutter near her stomach let her know that she was being tended to. The quiet breath of another caused her the sit up abruptly and pull her pin from her hair. The wound reopened. She winced.

“She goes through the trouble of saving to later attempt to kill… Who are you?” The waif asked as she dripped medicine onto bandages she had been preparing.

Arya Stark sighed and felt herself relax back onto the stone bed. “I shouldn’t tell you, then you would know who would put your safety above their own…”

The older yet now younger woman raised an eyebrow before shifting awkwardly. Her leg had been shifted back but it was bandaged tight to a splint. “I would call you Cat of the Canals because she is the closest. But she is only a version of Arya Stark, the closest thing to her, if she had been granted the freedom of low birth.”

“Just so…” Arya answered through clinched teeth as the waif applied a cold suave to the weeping wound.

The waif worked quietly, moving swiftly with the support of a rather large staff. When she was done, Arya sat up carefully. She flinched when the other girl’s hand grasped at her own. The waif lowered herself to Arya’s ear and barely spoke above a whisper. “Repeating is not a thing I shall do. It is not good to deny the many-faced god. But I thank your intervening anyway, no matter what the one you call kindly man thinks.”

Arya felt her head tilt gently to the side. She frowned. “What has happened?”

“It would be better for you if you didn’t remember…” The waif muttered gathering up her things. “He will say it is an affront… You mustn’t let that be your end. Aid will come if need be, no one to all, someone to you, will know as the raven flies.” With that the young woman maneuvered herself out of the small room.

Arya sat alone for a moment, the waif’s words floating through her mind. She slowly gathered herself up, careful of her new wounds and dressings, and made her way towards the door. But before she could leave the confines of the chamber the men she had dubbed kindly man and handsome man stood before her.

“It is good to see you conscious, you have done a great service for the house, paid in blood.” The handsome man spoke stepping closer to her.

Arya Stark schooled her features and called for the cover of no one. She could not be Arya Stark around these two, not when the waif’s words still hung in her ears. Just as the mask slipped into place, “Who are you?” The kindly man asked.

“No one…”

“Just so… It would seem, that this no one has done a dark thing. The masks of the dead are blessed by his forgotten name, by his many faces. To wear the masks of the living however is a blasphemous deed.”

“A girl knows not of what you speak. Only faces within the hall can be worn or otherwise properly prepared masks. Only faces of our brothers and sisters past and present can be called, a skill a girl has not yet completely mastered.” No one said tilting her head in a most feline manner as she quietly observed the men before her. The stance of the handsome man seemed relaxed as it was natural for him; however, the kindly man stood tenser than was his norm. His shoulders minutely more squared. His jawline an inkling too tight.

“Then no one would claim not to remember taking the mask of a sorrowful man and using it to kill the other intruders?” The kindly man asked his eyes narrowing despite of himself.

“A girl remembers only tunneling vision and the scream of a broken sister…” No one replied. “Any other happenings were not seen by a girl.”

Kindly man circled her slowly. “When the one a girl calls waif was injured, a girl rushed forward. When a blade was raised to the waif, a girl’s eyes went pale. As did the eyes of the sorrowful man holding the blade who then turned on his allies before butchering them. Then the sorrowful man came to the side of a girl, muttering about being released. He fell to his knees rocking, before screaming for release manically, and then slitting his own throat. Only then was the temple released from its spell.”

No one was very much aware of her body and its reactions in that moment. Her face remained schooled as she felt her pulse quicken at the words of the kindly man. What he spoke of she was sure could not be true. Wearing the skin of an animal, of her own wolf, of cats and birds she had befriended, that was something she knew and had done well. It was a secret she kept, probably the only one she had left from the Faceless Men. But to wear a living man, the idea seemed farfetched even to her. She could barely keep in the mind of a dog since the thoughts were so erratic, she would have never dared dream of entering the assured cluster fuck that would be another person.

“A girl does not remember such fantasies. A girl can barely call the face of a sister or brother. The face of a dead sorrowful man…” No one started, trying to hide her knowledge, hoping the deflection would be enough.

Kindly man stepped forward and grabbed her arm before staring into her eyes. “Not a mask of the dead, the body of the living! Before you were no one you were Arya Stark, of northern blood! Skin changer, you are an affront! It is not for us to wear the living!” He bellowed into her face, before he was pulled back by the handsome man.

“Leave her be old man, she does not remember the power.” Handsome man said softly.

“A girl knows not of what is spoken. Memories are not there. Such an ability a girl does not have. Even in the North, skin changing is a tale wives tell children.” No one said through clinched teeth, trying to calm herself. She needed to believe her own words, otherwise she was unsure of the consequences.

“Lovely girl…” Handsome man said softly trying to calm her but the words made her hair stand on end. It wasn’t for him to call her that. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep her emotions in check. If _he_ was here, she paused in the thought, she shouldn’t think of such things. _He_ had been gone for so long. She was stupid to miss _him_.

“A girl is a girl, plain and simple. The only magic she knows is to wear a face, a skill she has barely mastered…”

Handsome man interrupted her as the kindly man fought to regain the mask lost to him because of his devotion. “What was done was seen, even if it wasn’t remembered. A council has been called to consider the fate of a skin changer.”

“That is unnecessary…” No one replied.

“It is not a choice, it will be done.” Kindly man said. “Off to your room, no one shall know a fate by sunrise.”

No one quietly turned on her heel before noticing that she was being shadowed. “Now a girl has no trust for a not remembered wives’ tale.” The handsome man pulled himself from the shadows, his hands up in mock surrender.

“A girl is certain she does not remember a thing?” He asked carefully.

“A girl remembers many sinful things but not this…” She replied.

Handsome man sighed and pulled his fingers through his hair changing his face to another comely one. “Then we must be quick.”

Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “We? Why would a…”

Handsome man held two fingers to his eye before lowering one. “If you see him again tell him one less debt is owed. That man has a way of having those with no faces in his debt…”

Arya gave him an odd look, dropping no one like a leaf in the early autumn from a tree. “I don’t understand what you wish to do. The meeting hasn’t been completed, it’s outcome could be favorable. And I have no where…”

“There are far more fanatic masters here than when I wore the acolyte’s robes. Your kindly man has headed that. If you are to leave you must have the burning ceremony… I will head it.”

“I can’t have my burning, I can’t call a face.” Arya said defiantly as the handsome man grabbed her hand and led her to his chambers. He quietly locked the door before pulling a truck to the center of the room. He opened it and began to pull the contents out and place them on a small table.

“Then you don’t have much time to learn. Your coin master seemed not too rushed to train you in this skill. And in truth, I am taking a duty from him that he might be upset about later. However, the need is a bit more urgent.” He replied waving her into a seat. “Besides as long as you can call at least one face you will be connected to the others and can take the time needed to learn to call them on your own. Also, I am aware he did teach you how to make a mask. Which will be a helpful skill when you want a face that none of us will know.”

“He trusts you with much…” Arya replied pulling her hair back, flipping it into a bun. Her face settled into a skeptical scowl. But with limited options, she could see no way beyond this.

The man laughed. “Only because I am indebted to him and he leaves his most precious thing under my tutelage far too often. And yet again it seems obvious that he trusts you with far more. Come…” He motioned for her to sit before him on a small stool. The handsome man let a pause sit heavily between them as he carefully examined an obsidian dagger. “How well do you know his face, the one he prefers?”

“Better than I know my own…”

“Good, good… You will use that knowledge for the burning, and if all goes well you will just use a mask to take your leave. Your skills to pull beyond that will need to be developed and practiced as you journey.” Arya nodded as the man before her let out a soft breath. “This will hurt, apologizes.” He muttered before sliding the blade down the side of her face.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written smut for smut's sake at 2am. And then somehow it got a plot. I'm not sure what to do with it... I mean obviously it can't be a one shot, but I'm not sure if it should be a series. I'm so confused and I have no idea where this came from... What I should have done is just made it all happen in the HoBaW and then I wouldn't have a plot... But this portion is done now so... Urrgh.


End file.
